The Death of a Hero
by leighbenz9000
Summary: "It was raining when the group of mourners stood in the graveyard, fog clinging to their backs and settling along the headstones, lazy raindrops falling from the sky and sticking to the black umbrellas that blossomed overhead." Short one-shot about the death of a beloved hero. It's sad. Lots of Percabeth.


**A/N: This was extremely difficult to write... I tried my best to make it as emotional as possible without being overly dramatic. Hopefully that's how it comes across.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.**

Just like every night, Percy leaned over to kiss his wife before they went to sleep.

"I love you, Wise Girl," he said gruffly, pushing a strand of long gray hair out of her eyes and pecking her lips lightly before rolling over to his side of the bed. It creaked slightly with the shift of weight from one side to the other.

"Love you too, Seaweed Brain," she replied, peeking at him through heavy eyelids.

"What's not to love," the old man shrugged, a smirk on his face.

"Eighty-five years old and I could still kick your butt in a fight anytime." Annabeth rolled her eyes, scooting closer to her husband. She reached towards him, her wrinkled hand maneuvering through the sea of sheets until it found Percy's.

It had become a habit that they fall asleep like this, almost a ritual of sorts. Yet every time they reached for one another, there was still a spark. Even though they were elderly—their hair had become thin and grey and they could hardly stand up without much effort, let alone fight monsters—the love they shared for one another never faded. In fact, with time and dedication, it had only grown stronger.

Percy had grown accustomed to waking up with Annabeth's head on his chest. She always crawled on top of him during the night and even though he woke up every time, he never mentioned it because it brought a smile to his face. Each time she did it, he would stroke her hair lovingly and plant a kiss on her wrinkled forehead. Even with old age, she was just as gorgeous as when she was young.

* * *

The next morning, Percy was surprised to find that Annabeth was not in her normal position, but still lying where she had fallen asleep. He gave her hand a tight squeeze, and slid out of bed, careful not to wake her up.

After a long shower, Percy went to the kitchen and made two bowls of cereal—one plain and one with honey, just how Annabeth liked it. He walked shakily back to the room (balancing the two bowls in one hand and using his cane for support), expecting to see Annabeth's small head stretch up from under the covers, her eyes flutter open to reveal her stormy gray irises, and a thin smile to stretch across her face.

Except that in Percy's life, expectations were never close to reality.

* * *

"I'm sorry Mr. Jackson, there's nothing we can do," the doctor said, sympathetically giving Percy a pat on the back. "She was eighty five years old, it's best to focus on the good memories with her and to know that she wasn't in any pain. I can tell you two loved each other a lot."

The doctor sent in someone to talk about how to proceed with the funeral arrangements, except Percy wasn't listening.

The sound of footsteps growing louder brought him back to the hospital room that smelled of antiseptics and death. His older daughter burst through the door, tears already forming in her sea green eyes. He watched as she approached the hospital bed and sunk to her knees, shuddering as violent sobs ripped through her chest. One hand gripped the metal bar along the bed and the other fell limply to her side.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said, her voice muffled against the thick, white hospital sheets.

Even if Percy wanted to answer, it would have been impossible.

* * *

It's funny how when someone dies, every memory of that person resurfaces. Percy went through the motions of his life the next day, except that it wasn't truly his life without Annabeth. Every moment of every hour he was flooded with memories as if his brain was trying to make the sting of loss last as long as it could. Percy clung to those memories because they were all he had left.

He remembered the big events first: when they first met, their quests, saving the world, their first kiss, his proposal, their wedding, and having their children. Yet it was the small things that hurt the most. He was constantly thinking about the determined look she would get on her face when she was fighting with her dagger, or how her eyebrows would scrunch together when she was frustrated, how she would stand on the balls of her feet when she was angry or being stubborn. He remembered how she would Iris Message him during college to talk for hours even when she had a test to study for and how her soft lips felt against his. Most of all, he missed the way her eyes would light up when she talked about something she loved like architecture, their children, or him.

He looked back on their lives as a timeline. Percy was only a boy when they met, clueless as to the adventures life had in store for him. Although there were times when he felt lost or had little direction, he always knew that he could trust Annabeth. She was what kept him grounded, a hand to grab to pull him out of the Styx River. He knew now that she was his true Achilles heel.

And it was these memories that kept Percy up all night, his hand outstretched as if it he was holding hers, tears streaming down his face and collecting in salty pools against his cheeks.

* * *

The funeral was small, just as Annabeth would have wanted. It was raining when the group of mourners stood in the graveyard, fog clinging to their backs and settling along the headstones, lazy raindrops falling from the sky and sticking to the black umbrellas that blossomed overhead.

Percy's children stood side-by-side holding hands, symbolic and touching to a passerby. Percy approached knelt at the grave and whispered some words to his wife, not enough to express the thousands of prayers and stories on his lips.

* * *

After the crowd cleared, Percy felt a hand on his back. He turned around to find his cousin Nico by his side, his dark eyes with red rims, the rain hiding his tears.

"I know she made Elysium, Percy—she was a hero. Is there anything you want me to tell her?" he asked softly.

"Tell her I'll see her soon."


End file.
